


a louisville slugger to both head lights

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [4]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender!Bellamy, Cheating, F/M, Fluff, musician!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt request on tumblr: Fanfic prompt... Bellamy is a bar owner ( or bartender) and Clarke is an acoustic guitar playing singer who plays in the bar regularly and they do not get along but Clarke brings in business and the bar gives her a place to play. Start getting along when Clarke does a super depressing man hating set and Bellamy gives her free drinks that night because damn she looked sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a louisville slugger to both head lights

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Carrie Underwood's 'Before He Cheats'.
> 
> Unbeta'd and not particularly edited, either.
> 
> Enjoy.

Bellamy glanced at the clock, sighing internally. It was almost seven, which meant that damn music act was going to turn up in about four minutes with her acoustic guitar and aim to make his life miserable. Clarke Griffin was hired by his younger sister, Octavia, when he was out running errands and left her in charge of his bar, Grounders – he’d wanted music acts, sure, but not music acts who were so up themselves and their rich asses, that they had turned their nose up and his stage, and his drinks and his clothes, the first time she’d seen them.

But he still wanted a music act, and Clarke attracted a lot of business, and he hadn’t found anyone better – which meant that he held his tongue and let her perform, and gave her a measly pay at the end of the night and everyone was happy.

He knew she was going to arrive soon because he had her down to the minute. She always arrived at six fifty, and left at nine on the dot; her sets started no later than seven ten, and finished at eight thirty, after playing her own songs, some covers, and taking requests. But it wasn’t like he was watching or anything; he wasn’t looking at the clock and counting down the minutes – he’d just noticed these things, is all.

In the time he’d known her – which was six months, more or less – he had never given her a drink that she didn’t pay for, and it had never not been a Jack and Coke. She was infuriating, so he wasn’t going to give her free drinks – like a dog, you don’t congratulate their bad behaviour with treats.

Three nights before, she’d been in the bar, and as he was setting up the stage – he was running late while she was like a damn perfect clock – she tapped her foot incessantly, and sighed if he was going too slow. It was as if she had no patience for the one person actually giving her the platform for people to listen to her music. But she also got to him because she understood him far too well, and would just tell him her evidence in offhand comments with a spiteful of flippant tone.

Not long ago, they had been arguing over something stupid – like politics or something – and he vividly remembered threatening to fire her. She’d just laughed coldly.

“You wouldn’t fire me,” she challenged, this burning look in her eye. “I happen to be very aware that the nights I’m playing are your most popular – and you wouldn’t give that up.” There was ice in her tone, and she’d been right; nailing him in one shot. A little bit before then, he and Octavia had been arguing quietly behind the bar about her going to a rave (what seventeen year old would or _should_ go to a rave?)

“Hm,” she’d mused with a smirk. “Protective older brother – I bet you were saddled with her or something, right? I mean, she would have gone to a parent, about permission, not the older brother.” There had been something cold in the pit of his stomach as he glared at her. She ordered her drink and downed it in one before asking for a refill. “Dead parents club,” she stated. “My dad,” she added. “Or was that a _dead giveaway_?”

(Only a tiny part of him laughed at her pun. The rest was glaring at her for pegging him so easily.)

Clarke Griffin wandered into the bar at six fifty two, which was the first sign for Bellamy to realise that something was wrong. Clarke was two minutes late, and instead of walking straight to the stage, she stopped off at the bar for a double vodka; a set look in her eye. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, but served them all the same, watching her down them.

“Thanks,” she said, nodding once and turning towards the stage. She looked rattled; there were black smudges of make up under her eyes; probably scrubbed at and hoped that they weren’t visible. Her lower lip was bleeding a little; she had probably been biting at it, and he’d noticed that her usually perfectly manicured nails (longer nails on the hand that was on the neck, and shorter on the strumming and picking end) were chipped and both hands bitten to the flesh. Something was wrong, and Bellamy would have called her back and told her not to perform if she wouldn’t have yelled at him over it, and if she didn’t bring in so much money.

It was the wrong call.

Bellamy should have faced her anger instead of serving the crowd who got together for her performances, and letting her perform.

She was angry anyway, it seemed, and from her first strum when she sat on her stool on stage at seven thirteen (the next tell-tale sign that something was wrong) it was obvious.

“ _Why do men think they own it all? Why are the shots all men’s to call? Why do men think it’s okay to cheat? Why are men such fucking idiots?”_ She held the last word out, her voice angry and her strumming hard. He still brought in money that night, amongst questions of ‘what’s her problem?’ and ‘is she always like this?’, but it wasn’t as much. The crowd was smaller by the end of it, and Clarke had sung only men-hating songs for an hour and a half. Most of them took the route of cheating and lying, and ‘fucking bastards’ – and it wasn’t so hard to figure out what her problem was.

After, she trudged up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools. Bellamy eyed her for a moment before preparing a Jack and Coke and sliding it over. Clarke looked surprised, and when he looked away, she drank it anyway.

“So,” he said, cocking his head. “ _Sleeping with one girl and not two isn’t hard to do,”_ Bellamy quoted with a raised eyebrow.

“Caught on, huh?” She asked into her glass.

“It’s difficult for the entire city not to figure it out,” he deadpanned in response. Clarke sighed into her drink, downing the rest and holding out the glass for a refill. He did as asked, waiting for her to speak first.

“It just sucks,” she replied. “But I don’t think you want to hear about it.”

“Clarke, I own a bar. I’m used to listening to people’s problems.” She raised an eyebrow but nodded, taking her glass back.

“We – Finn and I – were together for about eleven months. He’d asked me to move in with him and everything; half my stuff is packed, you know? It’s all in boxes about the apartment and my roommate’s got people lined up for my room, and I already changed my address with the banks, _God_ ,” she groaned, resting her forehead on the wood of the bar. Bellamy swallowed, watching on with pity. He never thought he’d feel anything that wasn’t annoyance or anger with Clarke, and it was strange to feel something new.

“Yesterday I was going round his place – date night and stuff – and half way there he cancelled. He said that there was a family emergency or something, I offered to help but he turned me down. So I thought I would go to his place, make some dinner and stuff for him when he came back; clear the space he’d been meaning to out of his wardrobe; you know, get ready to move in, be a good girlfriend and stuff.” Bellamy nodded and he watched the way her knuckles turned white as she clenched the glass. She lifted it to her mouth, letting the alcohol slide down her throat and wincing a little before continuing.

“I get there, all unassuming, and I walk in, lock the door behind me – make my way to his bedroom so I can dump my stuff and look at what I’m working with. I open the door and there’s this – this,” she holds back a sob, pressing her lips into the side of her glass. “ _Girl_ underneath him, both completely naked and they’re fucking, and he’s been in a long distance relationship with her for three years. _Three_ _years_ , Bell!” She’d never called him by his nickname before. “I destroyed a three year relationship!” She sighed, exasperated and rapidly blinking, as Bellamy took the glass from her hand and filled it again.

She nodded her thanks, sipping at it slowly.

“Well,” he said now that she’d finished talking. “He sounds like a mighty dick.” She snorted into her drink. “You’re way too good for him, Clarke – you didn’t destroy that relationship, he did. Don’t take the blame for this; you’re better than that.” She eyed him carefully as he spoke. Truthfully, he believed what he was saying. Finn sounded like an asshole, and Clarke was subjectively great. She was pretty; curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes; she was a good musician, and from what he’d heard Octavia say, she had turned her back on a pre-med course and therefore her parent’s money. She was probably stronger than he knew – infuriating and annoying, but strong all the same.

When she finished her drink, she murmured her thanks, standing up. Clarke reached for her bag as Bellamy slid her glass away, and she pulled out her purse. Bellamy shook his head, raising a hand.

“Free,” he told her. Clarke cocked an eyebrow.

“You never give me free drinks,” she pointed out.

“I’ve never had a reason to,” he replied. Clarke nodded, thanking him louder this time and picking up her guitar case. They stood there for a moment, eyeing each other carefully, and Bellamy broke the moment nodding. “You’ll be able to collect your pay tomorrow?” He asked, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to take it out of the stash right then. She nodded absently.

“Of course.” He watched her for a moment before a though clicked.

“Finn Collins,” he told her. Her eyes widened by just a fraction and she nodded. “He has an open tab here from when he comes to watch you play. Maybe I’ll charge your drinks to him instead.” The beginning of a smile appeared at the corner of her lips, and she nodded once more in thanks before heading out the door.

Bellamy did in fact charge her drinks three times over to Finn’s tab, and also punched him in the face a couple of weeks later, when he came into the bar on a night Clarke was performing (less man-hating songs since that first time). But the night she played angrily was the opening of a door for the two of them; the next time she came to perform, he had a Jack and Coke made up for her, and she walked in two minutes early.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please hit up the comments and kudos - tell me what you thought, what you liked, wanted to change, etc. Thanks


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